Syphon
Chapter nine: intermission
Edward's mother, Trisha, was dying from a slow disease. The name of the disease, complicated as it was, Edward couldn't remember. Trisha would tell him that she was dying, not from bacteria, but from a broken heart, heartbroken at the thought of leaving her children. But Trisha didn't die from a broken heart, more like heart disease. Edward would lay in bed next to her, during the day, and at night, watching her chest rise and fall. But she died one night, in her sleep, Edward watching until the end. Edward let her go, never waking her, never taking her hand. Edward laid beside his mother until morning, staring at her, wondering why he didn't try to stop her. He was so young, Alphonse much younger, unknowing of death and the consequences thereafter.
Alphonse had blamed Edward for their mother's death, for a time, when he realized that Edward hadn't woken her. The doctor had told them to do so, she might slip into a coma, or worse, the disease would take her. But Edward couldn't stay awake any longer. He couldn't listen to his mother gasping for breath in her sleep, or mumbling his name, asking for their father. So Edward decided when enough was enough, making a decision that no child should have to make. Their mother wasn't going to get better, she was dying, and it was cruel to prolong her suffering. And Edward, child or not, knew that. Edward let her go peacefully, without pain, believing that he had made the right decision. He never doubted his choice, not once, not ever, knowing that she was in a better place. She was in heaven, but Edward knew better now, because there was no heaven.
Edward remembered the memory so clearly, the day Trisha died. Edward had gotten out of bed, exhausted, but awake, and walked into the living room. He stared at the wall for hours, waiting for Alphonse to get out of bed, wondering what he would say. And when Al had awoken, standing before Edward rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he asked about their mother, how is mom? Edward could have told Al the truth, but he lied, simply stating that she was sleeping and not to bother her. Alphonse wanted to see her, but Edward said no, adamantly, angrily, without restraint. That was the first time that Edward felt hatred towards his brother, and maybe, it wasn't hatred at the time, more of an inflammatory response. It wasn't Alphonse's fault, it wasn't anyone's fault, but Al wouldn't leave him alone. Edward was twelve, experiencing something horrible inside, something that he shouldn't have felt upon his mother's death. He was relieved, satisfied, but pained, he felt like he would cry, but not in sadness, in strife. It was a complicated feeling, one that Edward didn't understand, and he allowed himself to feel that way.
At first, Edward did nothing. He made sure that Alphonse went to school, deciding that he would stay home, Ed having missed many school days due to his mother's sickness. He laid on the couch for most of the day, he felt heavy, the same heaviness that he felt now, until he realized that he would have to do something. He couldn't keep Alphonse away forever, and he couldn't let the authorities find his mother decomposing in her bed, that would reflect poorly on him. They might think that he was sick. In desperation, Edward tried to call their father, he didn't want to, but he didn't want to call the police. He sat on the couch listening to the phone ring, over, and over, and over, until the machine picked up. Then he would start again, dial tone, ringing, the answering machine, for hours Edward waited for his father to pick up the phone. But he never did. Edward hated their father, but he needed him, for once, just once, to help him, to be his father. But, eventually, Edward relented, deciding that his father would never answer.
Edward was alone, defeated, unknowing of what to do. He could call the Rockbell's, but what would he say, my mother is dead and I watched her die. Edward couldn't find the words, all of them sounded apathetic, if not angry. Edward spoke the words over and over again, listening to his own voice, grimacing at the sound. He sounded like he didn't care, like he didn't care that his mother was dead. Edward knew that the Rockbell's loved Alphonse, but they were cautious of him, his pretentiousness, and his intelligence. Edward was equal parts likable and unlikable at the same time, aggressive, passive aggressive, all at once. But Edward didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone the Rockbell's. So Edward did nothing, remaining on the sofa, holding steadfast to the phone, staring at the wall. That was, until the door opened, Alphonse walking through. But Al wasn't alone, Winry was with him, and her parents.
Edward didn't stand, he had gone numb some time ago. He was supposed to pick Alphonse up from school, to wait for and to walk him home, but he had forgotten. Time had passed, hours, and Edward had never moved, still stationary. Alphonse yelled hello as he ran past, heading for their mother's room, but Edward grabbed his arm, suddenly, wrenching him back. The action was incredibly violent, but Edward didn't let go, he even left a bruise. Winry's mother was screaming his name, commanding Edward to let go, but Ed remained, Alphonse clawing at Edward's fingers. The words that came out of Edward's mouth weren't his own, they were calm and the sentiment astray, you can't go in there. But as soon as Edward spoke, Winry's father had taken a hold of Ed's arm, pulling him away from Alphonse. Edward fell to the ground, his legs inept, but that was when he still had his leg, and it hurt, because at that time, Edward could still feel things. Winry's mother was comforting Alphonse, Winry's father standing above Edward, furious, speaking, but Edward couldn't hear the words. He had gone deaf, a ringing in his ears, like he was drowning, the room filled with water.
Winry's mother was taking Alphonse to see their mother, Winry's father standing between Edward and Alphonse, and Edward shut his mouth, he wouldn't speak, he couldn't speak. They would find Trisha, cold, she had been dead for almost twenty-four hours now, the blame resting solely on Edward's shoulders. Edward was breathing heavily, his chest the weight of lead, rocks, stone, crushing him. And it was abrupt, Edward finding his way to his feet, turning and leaving the house. No one stopped him, not yet. It was only a matter of seconds, Edward hearing the sound of his name, but it was being drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He had started out walking, but the fear was setting in, and soon he was running across the yard and down through the fields. Edward didn't even have shoes on, but he didn't care, not about his bloody feet, because he had to get away. He felt trapped, like he needed to escape, so Edward ran, further, and further, away from home. And when Edward could run no further, he collapsed, and that was where he stayed, for two days.
Edward didn't know if anyone had even looked for him, but he had been picked up by a patrol car some time later. They had taken him to the local station, asked his name, and when he did not speak, called child services. The officers had offered Edward food, but he had refused it, and when they sent for a nurse to do something about his bloody feet, Edward refused to be touched. But it wasn't long before someone figured out who Edward was, that he had been missing, that he was a runaway. Edward could hear the officers talking about him, about how he didn't tell anyone that his mother was dead, that he was planning on leaving her there to rot, that he was fucked up. Edward tried to leave, he was ashamed, but there were too many officers. They ended up handcuffing Edward to a chair, he was a flight risk, and the Rockbell's didn't show up until the next morning. And when the Rockbell's did arrive, they weren't happy, not to see Edward, not in the least. But they took Edward home nonetheless, with disdain.
The Rockbell's were doctors, they stitched up Ed's feet, and left him alone. They wouldn't let Edward see Alphonse, deeming Edward unfit, or an inconvenience. Maybe, they thought of Edward as a bad influence, or maybe, they thought that he had lost it, that he was crazy. But they hadn't seen crazy, not yet, not from Edward. Edward was satisfied by the arrangement, though, he liked the solitude, the silence. The Rockbell's didn't make him go back to school, they didn't want to deal with Edward, knowing that he was a problem, that he had always been a problem, even for Trisha. So Edward would lay in bed all day, depressed, equally as despondent, sustaining stress, anxiety ridden.
That was, until one day, when Alphonse came into his room, crying, "I want mom." Edward tried to ignore Alphonse, he was tired, trying to waste away. But Alphonse was relentless, "You said that alchemy can bring people back."
The conversation had taken a turn, Edward unconvinced, "I can't bring mom back."
Alphonse was wiping away his tears, "You said that if anyone could do it, you could." Edward was going to respond, but Al cut him off, "You didn't wake mom up, it's your fault." Alphonse was crying, heavily, heaving with every breath, "You let mom die, why did you let her die?" Edward did nothing, he just sat there and took it, knowing that he probably deserved it. But Alphonse wasn't finished, he just kept going, stripping the screw, "And dad left, because of you."
And that hurt, it was like a knife, Edward gripping his chest as though he had been stabbed. Their father had left because of him, because his father was a bad man, because Edward couldn't keep his mouth shut. Alphonse didn't understand. Alphonse was feeding Edward's unhappiness, his pain, his shame, pushing Edward closer to the edge. What could Ed say in his defense, that he didn't mean it, that it wasn't his fault, that he was just a child? Al was going to break Edward with guilt, guilt about their mother, their father, because Edward was an asshole, because he deserved it, because Edward did bad things. Alphonse was only eight, but he knew what he was doing. His plan was to disallow Edward to move past their mother's death, forcing him to bring her back. And Edward relented, if not a couple of months later, when the guilt had started making him sick. His stress was manifesting physically, he was nauseous, vomiting. And around Edward's mouth, hives, blooming like blisters, spreading down his neck and onto his chest.
Edward tried to live with it, the guilt, the nausea and the hives, but it was eating away at him. He couldn't eat because of the nausea, because his neck was swollen, and he couldn't sleep because of the itching, the ever insistent and incessant, itching. Edward eventually tore his lips open, scabs replacing the skin, Edward picking at them with his teeth. But no one really cared that Edward had done such a thing, that he was suffering, that he had torn open his neck, his chest, that he had open wounds. The itch was deeper than his skin and Edward kept scratching, deeper, and deeper, tissue festering beneath his fingernails, but it was never enough. He could never scratch the itch, because the itch was immaterial, only a figment of his imagination.
What Edward did next, he did for Alphonse, because Alphonse asked him to. Edward stole money from the Rockbell's and purchased the ingredients from his alchemy books, every ingredient, down to the milligram. Edward hid them at his house, in his father's study. Edward had drawn the circle, done the math, measured every ingredient, and maybe, if only for a moment, did Edward believe that it might work. And years later, after the transmutation, Edward considered the consequences. Did the gate take Alphonse's body because he wanted their mother back? Edward was a bystander, and when the gate offered to show him the truth, he gave his leg, that was his choice. And when Edward returned to see Alphonse missing, he gave his arm for Al's soul, and even that had been his choice. And at some point, Edward wondered if the gate had really taken anything from him, or if he had always been that way.
And despite what happened, and no matter how transparent, Edward never told anyone what really happened, not to him, not the truth. The truth was, Alphonse, eight years old, a suit of armor, told the military what Edward had done. So you've heard the truth. But Edward's leg didn't disappear, not like Alphonse's body, not like his arm, because that wasn't the truth. It was as though his leg wasn't really a sacrifice, just a down payment. The transmutation of their mother lasted only a moment, Edward appearing, whole. Edward had been so horrified by the sight of his mother, that he hadn't noticed his leg, which was turning black. And in the interim, Edward drew the blood seal, sacrificing his arm, gone.
The pain came afterwards, though, aching and angry, through his chest and down his leg. His leg had become deadweight, melting into carbon, but it was really rot, liquefying his muscle into mush. In a single second, Edward knew what he had to do, accepted it, and dragged himself over to the supplies, taking hold of a knife. There were no words to describe the pain. Edward had lost his vision at some point, blindly cutting his flesh, and when he got down to the bone, he broke it with a hammer, snap. Edward passed out at some point, unfinished, bleeding to death. But Edward woke up some time later, never knowing exactly how long that he had been lying there, only to find maggots writhing around underneath his skin. Edward couldn't see them, he could feel them, eating him like a piece of meat. He gouged them out with his fingers, his hands shaking, making the final cut.
When Edward woke up, he was at the hospital. It took a couple of days for Ed to realize where he was or what had happened. He was suffering from a fever, infection in his leg, delirium obstructing his thoughts. The doctors weren't certain that Edward would pull through, they had to amputate his leg further up his thigh, the initial cut sick, spreading. And his bones, splintered from the blow, sawed off at the stub. It wasn't long before Edward realized what he had done, and it wasn't long after that, only a few minutes, that Edward tried to smother himself. He was stopped though, by a nurse, his remaining arm tied to the bed. Edward was in too much pain to struggle, so he just laid there, in pain, waiting for the pain to end, but the pain was never ending.
Edward didn't even know if he had brought Alphonse back, no one had come to see him at the hospital, which made Edward feel helpless, hopeless. But a few weeks later, Edward was visited by the Major General, and at first, Edward thought that they would imprison him, charge him with murder, hang him. But the General was happy to see Edward, and he greeted Ed with a smile, "Edward, how are you?"
Edward refused to speak, he hadn't spoken since the accident, and he just looked at the man, grimacing through the pain. It was clear how he was feeling, his leg was inflamed, his shoulder bleeding, the infection still rampant, red in his veins. Edward hadn't seen himself, but he imagined that he looked delightful. But the man continued to smile, speaking through it, "Normally, what you have done would be considered a crime. But, today is your lucky day."
Edward felt himself drifting, and he closed his eyes, listening. There was something in the man's voice, a sense of achievement, and pride, "I've heard a lot about you, Edward. What you have accomplished is no small feat, you were so close." Edward never opened his eyes, but the man knew that he was listening, "I'm here to make a deal, yes?"
Edward nodded in understanding, exhausting himself.
The man sat down on the edge of the bed, "The military will pay for you to receive an experimental procedure. You will receive a new arm, a new leg. And in return, you join the military as an alchemist. We wouldn't make this kind of deal to just anyone, Ed. We acknowledge your intellect, we could always use someone like you." And the man paused, smiling, "And the charges, they will be dropped, of course."
Edward was tired, but he understood. No one else wanted him, only the military. Edward didn't want to go to war, he didn't want to take the deal, but he did. He didn't even think about it. Ed tried to raise his hand, but it was in vain. The man apprehended the action, and he shook Edward's hand, gently, "Once the infection clears up, you will be moved to the military hospital. That is where you will receive the procedure." And the man paused, "Is there anyone that you want me to inform, friends, family?"
Edward shook head no.
The man stood, adjusting the collar of his shirt, "Alright, I'll be seeing you, Edward."
And the man left, leaving Edward alone.
